Peter's Friends
by knowregrets
Summary: While helping his mother in the garden, Peter's hidden cynicism reflects on the marauders, his recent choice and his future path. Updated. One shot.


_Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be._

Some of Peter's earliest memories were in the garden. When he first started at Hogwarts he was almost aggressively average in most things, but he had already known more Herbology than most fifth years. It wasn't as if he particularly enjoyed Herbology, he didn't. But the garden was always important to his mother, and Peter's mother was, well, indescribable.

Peter's father had always been no more than a vague presence in his life, even when he was still alive. His mother, however, had been central. It sometimes felt like Peter and his mother had spent years working in the garden without ever coming indoors. Part of him had detested it, back then. As a boy he would far rather have been playing with his friends than kneeling in the flowerbeds, pulling up weeds, at the imperious command of his mother. But now, things were different.

Peter quite enjoyed his time in the garden nowadays. It gave him chance to think, to plan. As he delved deep into the ground, trying to pull up the last of the roots of the ever-pervasive bindweed, he caught a glimpse of movement in the sky above him. He shaded his eyes and peered up. It was a broomstick, probably some local witch or wizard, flouting the secrecy laws in order to get home quickly from work. Almost inevitably, Peter's thoughts turned to James. It had sometimes seemed to Peter that it was only playing quidditch that James truly seemed at home.

Yet even when James wasn't on a broomstick, it seemed like he was flying somehow. Peter remembered at school, in their dorm, James would alternate between day-dreaming, his mind floating off on some unknown flight of fancy, and a chaotic whirl of activity, that frequently left everyone around him breathless. James sometimes seemed so lazy, loathe to make an effort for anyone, or anything. Other times he never seemed to stop, racing through the corridors at Hogwarts so quickly, even Sirius and Remus had found it hard to keep up.

But it was never a contradiction, really. James was lazy, except when something had excited him. He could draw a wand faster than the sneakiest of Slytherins, yet he was rarely the first to master a spell in class, mostly because he didn't put the effort in to try. Of course when he did bother to master it, he was always twice as good as any of the others. And when James tried, he was unstoppable.

And then there was James's laugh. Most of Peter's memories of James at Hogwarts involved laughing. While Sirius's laugh was short and loud, and Remus's was usually just a wry smile, or sometimes, when he was particularly amused, a dry chuckle; James's laugh was as much a part of him as his confidence on a broom. James's laugh was like the dawn chorus, a joyous celebration of life. None of them could ever imagine James being serious about anything, serious and James never seemed to go together.

Peter had always thought James's attraction to Lily was part of the same whirlwind that seemed to govern his life. His laughing, live for the moment, celebratory whirlwind, the whirlwind that, eventually, caught James himself up in it so that his laughing declarations of love ended up being nothing less than the truth. Or as close to the truth as love could ever be anyway.

Peter supposed he was envious, a little, of James's seeming ability to fall deeply in love. He always thought it would have been nice to have the illusion that love was something real, but unfortunately, he knew, deep down, that it wasn't. But he could still feel the pangs inside of him when he realised, that day in June during their NEWTs; that James truly did believe he was in love with Lily.

The marriage occurred with typical James speed, no time for thoughts, no time for regrets, just "Let's do it!" in much the same way that James had planned his part in their adventures over the years. And now, James and Lily were expecting a baby. Peter shuddered slightly at the thought. It wasn't so much that he was concerned about the havoc a mini-James could cause, more that he was concerned that James would drive him, and everyone else, into a nervous breakdown before the baby even got here.

Sirius had, naturally, been the first to "bagsie" the Godfather position. Lily had just rolled her eyes and tried to conceal her smile at his antics. But it had been obvious she had known that Sirius would take that role. He was a force that could not be stopped in such matters

Ever since that Astronomy lesson in the first year, when they had had to locate the brightest star in the winter sky, Peter had known that Sirius was well named. Shooting directly towards the solar system, sending waves of energy ahead of it, affecting everything it touches, the star completely dominates the winter skies, a light by which all other stars are judged and found lacking.

And Sirius was like that, from the start he had been popular, with both boys and girls at Hogwarts. Later he had been an obsession for many of the girls. He shone in the night and the moths fluttered around him. But he kept most of them at arms length, only the most persistent getting close before, invariably, withering, unable to stand the heat of his presence for too long.

That obvious part to Sirius, the part everyone saw, would be a great Godfather. But there was the other part. Silent and hidden, there was, in Sirius, a smouldering darkness of pain and hatred that surfaced regularly, usually after he had spent time with his family, pulling energy from his brighter self. That was the part of Sirius that very few people knew. The part that made James and Remus worried.

So many people were attracted to the shining light that made up the bulk of Sirius. But Peter was drawn to the other side of him. It terrified and fascinated him in equal measure. It made Sirius a far more dangerous person to be around, but also a far more interesting person to be around.

It was the darkness within Sirius that nearly sent Snape to his death while they were at school. Peter didn't think either James of Remus had realised what prompted that. Yes, Sirius was irritated by Snape's constant snooping, but Snape had always irritated him. No, Peter was sure that it was that letter he had received, earlier that day. Sirius had never shown anyone the letter, as far as Peter knew, but Peter had recognised the handwriting as Sirius had shoved it out of site, into the pocket of his robe. It had been from his father.

To Peter, Sirius was as easy to read as James usually was. Remus, on the other hand, had been an enigma when he first came to Hogwarts. Peter had almost ignored him, at first, dismissing him as another non-entity, not worth the time. But then, one day, he had looked into Remus's eyes and felt like he was drowning.

Remus rarely looked people in the eye; he was guarded. But when he did, his eyes were pools of deepest blue; filled with a pain and need it had taken a long time to understand. Peter tended to avoid being alone with Remus at school. Occasionally they would make eye contact, and he would find it hard to breathe, any noise surrounding them would become muffled, echoing as if from a great distance. Peter did not like that feeling. It made him feel as inconsequential as he had always tried to present himself, but at the same time, as if he was the only person in the world.

Peter liked to feel like he was in control. That wasn't a problem with Sirius or James. With James he could be solid, immovable, or allow himself to be swept up in the movement. With Sirius he could bask in the reflected light with ease, he would know when it was time to step back out of the flames, and he also knew how to how to stoke the dark fire at times. But with Remus, he could not be in control in the same way.

Peter sometimes felt it was interesting that the moon had been such a huge part of Remus's life, even before he was bitten. All four boys had been visiting Remus one summer, after fifth year, and while Sirius and James had flirted with a group of Muggle girls on the beach, Remus and Peter had wandered along the coastline, talking of inconsequential things, and poking at the seaweed stranded at the high tide mark.

It was then it struck Peter, Remus's family had lived by the rise and fall of the tides, for generations. To Remus's family, the moon was their friend, allowing them to harvest the magical energy released by the sea. The moon was their friend, right up until the point when Remus had been bitten, when it stopped being an ally, and became an enemy.

But even after coming to some sort of understanding of Remus, Peter never spent as much time with him as he did with James and Sirius. And he spent even less time now, after Hogwarts. Remus still scared him more, not because of the wolf, the wolf wasn't nearly as dangerous as the man.

Whenever Peter talked to Remus, he could feel his protection being worn down, his control being torn away. Remus was the only one of the three who could make him worry, make him doubt, make him feel. And now that Peter had chosen his new path, he could no longer afford to worry, doubt or feel. He had to be solid, had to be firm, had to be sure.

None of the three of them had really understood Peter. He was an average wizard, he knew that, he cultivated that. He was under no illusions that he was exceptional in any way. When they had first started Hogwarts, it was assumed by many that Peter would stick with the fifth Gryffindor boy, Michael. That the two of them would be the ordinary ones, that Sirius and James would be the extraordinary ones and that Remus would be, well, Remus. But that wasn't what Peter had wanted, and even before Michael's death during their third year, Peter had established himself, very much in with the others.

Peter had never wanted to stand out, but he wanted to be with people who did. He had been determined to get into Gryffindor, all those years ago. He had known that in Gryffindor he would be more likely to find the people he felt he needed to befriend, the ones who did stand out.

His family had assumed he would be in Hufflepuff. He was such a good boy, a sweet boy, so considerate and caring. Always willing to help his mother out. He had always known differently. At first, he had tried to be that boy, the boy they wanted, the boy they loved; that was back when he still believed in love, of course. But inside he had known he was just playing a part. He had once thought that if he played the part for long enough, he would become that boy, that one day he would wake up and be kind, caring and considerate. But any last lingering hope he had that that was the case, disappeared when he had placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

His sorting had taken a long time. But he had been insistent. He knew he could be sneaky, but he also knew he wasn't the best at sneaky. Gryffindors were, as a rule, far to straightforward to be sneaky, and so, if there, he could be the sneakiest of them. The Sorting Hat had told him that he had very Slytherin reasons to be in Gryffindor, but, eventually, Peter had got his own way. Peter had wanted to be with the extraordinary ones, to bask in their reflected glory and be blown onwards by their winds of success. And he was.

It was hard at times, but the advantages of being overlooked, far outweighed the disadvantages in his mind. The other three were extraordinary and so, naturally, in comparison Peter had seemed ineffectual, stupid, talentless. But in reality he was, as he had always known, average. He knew the others pitied his "stupidity". He didn't mind. It allowed him time to carve out a role for himself within the group. He was the one who cheered them on, encouraged them, even manipulated them sometimes. And now, that skill, that position he had, was going to become even more important than ever.

The bindweed had been cleared and Peter pulled the tray of seedlings towards him, pausing only to absentmindedly rub his left arm. He had expected that taking the mark would burn, but it hadn't; it had frozen. And now, now it was a constant weight, so heavy he was surprised that he could use his arm as if nothing had happened. It was only when he was called that he felt what he wanted to feel, the pleasure pain spreading through his body, his blood turning to ice, expanding, and protecting him, making him more than he was, making him stronger, firmer, what he was meant to be.

But even now, in the ranks of the Death Eaters, Peter didn't want to stand out, to be extraordinary. He wanted to be what he was. Small, unnoticed, working behind the scenes, until it was time, and they had won, and he could take his place in the frozen ecstasy of the Dark Lord's presence.

And the Dark Lord himself had placed this task upon him, a task for which he as so eminently suited. And that previous night, as he had met up, once more, with his old school friends, he had started, nor more than a hint, here and there, at this time. He kept it subtle, unnoticeable. With luck, none of them would even remember it was him, saying it. But they would remember it. And it would start to gnaw away at them. With careful tending, it would become something that could serve the Dark Lord's purpose.

As he carefully placed the first seedling in the small hole in the ground he had prepared for it, he whispered the song his mother had taught him, all those years ago.

"Three main things,  
Green plants need.  
Plants need sun,  
That's number one.  
Plants need air,  
Be aware.  
Plants need water,  
'Specially when hotter."

_AN: I wrote this as a writing exercise to improve my imagery, woefully lacking in my normal writing. Although it isn't fluffy, it was very much inspired by the recent exercises on the Sugar Quill fluff thread. I know I hit the imagery hard in this one, that was the point of it after all! this is an expanded version, almost double the size of the original._


End file.
